The Salmon and the Sturgeon
Had an important dream.
They wanted to spawn a nation
By fighting their way upstream.
They thought it would all go swimmingly.
But a boat was the way to go.
The Salmon sat in the bow and smoked
Whilst he let the Sturgeon row.
The shimmer upon his waistcoat gleamed
Like a colourful rainbow trout,
But leaving the red and white behind
And taking the blue bit out.
And when they reached the spawning grounds,
No matter how loud their voice,
Or how ever reasoned their argument.
‘Twas others would make the choice.
Should they feed the land to the fishes,
Who could either swim or sink,
Or cling to the old security?
It was harder than one might think.
The Salmon and the Sturgeon swam
In an ever decreasing circle.
Would they still have to lie with the Sassenachs,
Or with fragrant Angela Merkel?
Last sightings place that fishy duo,
Proclaiming, half a mile offshore,
‘Oh, we would swim five hundred miles,
If you’d just open up your door.’
©Ruth Twyman Lockyer